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A POLITICAL SATIRE, 

BY 







Ambition 



A POLITICAL SATIRE 



BY. 



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AMBITION. 

Appetitus rationi pareat. 



What 'tis in man to rise above the self, 

To loose ambition's subtle, treach'rous hand; 

Which, when it offers most to lift and guide, 

Forsakes to ruin's ever ebbing tide 

Her fondest troth'd ; and even doth she stand 

With aiding forte to swell the currents might, 

That drifts him out from duty's brightest shore, 

In lost op'tunity's drearest, blackest night. 

Life's youth is past; man's vigorous march begins. 
With most ennobling zest, he brings all will he hath, 
To win a place amid the worldly stars ; 
To fix his light in that bright firmament, 
Attainable to those few, whose brilliant lamp 
Makes dim the rays of all its fellow flames. 
The days seem all of glorious summer born; 
Not marr'd by even seldom passing clouds 
To cast slight shadows twixt him and the world. 
Fathers e'en take him as the guiding star, 
To which they point their sons to mark their course; 
Good mothers, too, contend the new come babe 
Shall bear his name, to make him grow therelike ; 
And maidens wish their lovers, without change, 
Could in some odd like manner prove as he. 
But time wears on to other scenes. 
Ador'd success, an everflatt'ring dame, 



';? 



A very jilt of our confiding faith, 

Doth keep him well in her seductive arms ; 

Allures him on by most alluring charms, 

Set forth in fame, and wealth, and mighty power ; 

Wins to believe, through her he can attain 

Whate'er his wish or fancy shall dictate; 

And, by her help, all things are in his reach. 

And this were so, if she stood ever by 

In time ot need ; but seldom 'tis she does. 

When we are infants, nursing, she will wean; 

When in our youth and trusting will forsake; 

From strongest hold of strongest men she'll break; 

And from depending age will aptly draw. 

Her favors, quaffed in so full a cup, 

Intoxicate and twist his better wit* 

Annuls his plight to drink of naught but truth, 

And urges him to swallow pois'nous dregs 

Dropp'd in by devil's constant tending hand. 

At once, take wing the higher purer aims ; 

And, in their flight, withdraw their quenching grace, 

Let seething fires leap up, consume the soul, 

And leave its blacken'd ashes — love for gold. 

The greed for gain has trapp'd him to mistake: 

He, of position, barter'd sale doth make ; 

And its twin — power, — being only given 

In sacred trust, link'd to his very heart, 

Thus, shame outraging one shall ruin both, 

Is auction'd off to satisfy his purse, 

And fill his coffer's avaricious lust. 

Dignity, truth, respect and virtue's rest, 

Are ground and work'd into a merchandise ; 

Even, are they hawk'd about the town ; — 

For so much gold, or other value down, 

I'll lend my aid to have you what you will : 

Free lands for roads, or pass you any bill ; 



Work in your service, give all strength I have 
To turn the money'd current to thy till : 
Just so the people's trust is barter'd, traded, sold ; 
Put out at interest, auction'd, huxter'd, pawn'd ; 
Hung out at door with tag — "this is for sale," 
Like low priced goods on counters gotten stale. 
His dwelling in the country's heart becomes 
A place of prostitution of his power ; 
From which, he showers contamination dire 
Upon the morals of the younger race. 
Then patience can no longer feelings tame ; 
Uplifted hands show condemnation's face ; 
Anger'd voices rise in fiercest question, — 
"Hast thou a thing within thee called conscience," 
Or is it dead from smother like the rest ! 
Of all, that once show'd in thee for the good, 
There 'pears not one that's now unto thee left ; 
O God ! why, that one of Thy creatures can, 
Possessing Thy outward image, betray his fellow- 
man ! 
If we may raise our wishes unto Thee, 
Most submissively do we bend the knee 
To ask Thy grant, if it may be Thy will, 
Such loathsome thoughts prevent man to instill! 

Ambition hath another shape than this, 
Which may be in the same, or yet another man ; 
And 'twixt the two, 'tis not an easy task 
To spy the worst, the second or the first. 
Though, 'tis in proper mood, praiseworthy good 
For every man to strive to earn his food ; 
Increase his store, till reason's soil, wherein 
To plant the seed of knowledge and of power, 
To there give root, assure him harvests vast 
To feed himself; and by the word of tongue 
Distribute strengthning grain from wisdom's barn, 



Which, less'ning not the slightest of his own, 

Doth much profit this, and after ages. 

And so 'tis good that he should seek to gain, 

Through open arches of the nation's will, 

That sacred court, where shines eternally 

The brightness of a pure and lofty purpose. 

And thus to grow himself a lasting fame, 

To be a monument in times to come; 

Standing all assaulting storms and tide, 

Which public works seem, of themselves, to raise. 

These things, we say, are ever worthy praise. 

But 'tis not right, that for some guilty love 

Of undergrowing pride and outward show, 

(Like grovelling bawd, for admiration's eye, 

Allows the inner self to grow awry 

And warp the soul, through utter disregard 

Of what we should hold nearest in respect,) 

He shoald attempt, by cunning, to become 

The paramour of high and trusty office. 

To seek, by stealth, to enter Honor's home, 

With hope to cause or force her so transgress, 

To be the dam of his atrocious get, 

And prove the mother to adult'rate glory. 

In bearing such, her strength, her very life 

Is yielded up in dreadful sacrifice ; 

Just pride meets death, her raiment (glorious flag!) 

Is used as swaddling for this bastard born. 

These things, we say, deserve our condemnation. 

Yet oft it has, does, and will show again, 

That aptly man forgets, 'tis safer plan 

To serve his nation's law, abide her will 

To honor him for things accomplished her ; 

But swerves her road, and thinks, by juggling skill 

To cut some shorter road unto her summit. 

Various are the means here brought to bear, 



Various are the garbs that he may wear, 

Various are the oaths that he may swear 

To place his workers round him when once there. 

Marcus Antony's plan to make advance, 

Was, speaking o'er the death of Rome's belov'd, 

Those thrilling words of pity with the slain, 

To draw unto himself the streams of love 

Which lost their place of flow in Caesar's death. 

Then too, a book may prove a weighty step, 

In this ascent of fortune's shaky stair: 

It may be written hist'ry, or what not, 

So it is named hist'ry, 'twill suffice. 

It should be always granted every one, 

He doth but say, as things appear to him ; 

And when one looks intent, and wishes so, 

That shape is very apt to quickly grow. 

It may perhaps, be work'd up in some haste ; 

But censure not, for it must issued be, 

At such a time as most promotes his needs, 

His advertisement; serves his purpose best: 

And makes the proper move in fittest place. 

But men to-day are so incredulous, 

And look on naught with superficial gaze ; 

They have acquired a wond'rous faculty — 

Digesting things before they swallow them. 

'Mongst themselves thev speak how Antony did 

Point more unto himself, than to the dead ; 

They pass a silent smile about the book, 

And shrewdly wink a knowing meaning look ; 

They say, these are but hooks thrown out to catch 

Unwary ones ; so fishy looks the bait, 

Instinctively the eyes are felt for scales. 

Certainly these are schemes complete, or have 

Some other countenance than now does show ; 

Or are but op'ning moves to after-game ; 



Appearing in the bolder open fight: 

When forces all assembled and array 'd 

In pomp and puff, with loudest sounding horn 

Announce that they do take the field to win, 

And overthrow all daring to oppose. 

From east to west, and back vo east again, 

Rings deat'ning noises of this windy gang ; 

Of bought hurrahs, and purchas'd clam'rous peals 

Of loud exploding words ; and strong appeals 

For strong support in th' approaching contest. 

Small towns are storm'd, large cities are beseig'd, 

Inhabitants are told how they are ruin'd ; 

How all the land shall eat of deep regret 

If vict'ry falls on other than this chief. 

What army has no wenches hanging on ; 

Camp followers, and all like proofs of war ! 

They are essential to a warlike show. 

Perchance there's widow straight, with socks aglow ! 

And then there's widow Crook, in pantaloon, 

Who if not born, was rais'd with silver spoon ; 

With drooping lids, and silky flowing hair ; 

(What very little there is which showeth there. ) 

A little stout perhaps, but not so stout 

But that Her Politics can tack about ; 

Nor yet indeed so stout, she'd have you know, 

As warrants this suggestion of side-show. 

With gallant leader at the head of these, 

Whose bearing is so noble, and so grand 

To look upon, in casual sort of way, 

Makes most imposing sight for rustic eyes. 

Needs follow not, that this great leader be 

A Soldier used to wars of blood, where death 

Finds swift employment, feeds on agony ; 

And with her sudden summons calls in haste 

The soul to seek its home, leave earth its waste. 



If such tumultuous times should so occur, 

When strife is done, and happy peace again 

Reclaims the throne she for a time has lost; 

When Valliant soldiers tread the homeward march, 

Whose years, and blood, and money, have been spent 

In service to a cause akin their heart, 

They find this wordy Knight as fresh as May ; 

With neither soil nor scar upon his skin ; 

Nor yet upon his clothes — not uniform — 

Is seen the imprint or the rents of fight. 

His waving plumes are sweet and neatly kept 

At home. 'Twould be a pity them to soil 

In such a vulgar thing as battle fought 

To vindicate the justice of opinion. 

There's profit more in use of ready pen : 

In quiet comfort gently taxing mind 

To work a "theorick" way to gain a war, 

In safest "practick" mode — remain at home. 

No spirit mild doth keep him to the peace, 

Nor puts restraint upon a cruel hand. 

It shows full well thereafter what doth hide 

Within this gilded den: how goblin imps 

Hold skulking meetings in these quiet walls, 

And wait th'arrival of such time 

As suits their disposition and their taste. 

Now this is come when all this motley band 

Is routed in confusion and dispers'd — 

Like Spain's Armada's start — with bombast fill'd 

Like Spain's Armada's end — completely ill'd. 

For then these imps hold riot holiday, 

Indulge in fiendish antics of their way ; 

Until, 'twould seem his breast a hades most 

Must be, to entertain such num'rous host. 

He tries to tear at those fast healing wounds, 

Howls bitter words of hatred that abounds 



In poisonous stings. Flaunts in the face 

Of those who would the cords of friendship lace, 

A blood stained shirt ; our deepest woe 

Is conjur'd up to turn the friend to foe ; 

Embitter'd, sund'rincr thoughts, long since forgot, 

Are.delv'ed up from their last resting spot ; 

Sectional views are magnified to show 

Vast fields of evil, where no ill doth grow. 

Now, as the garden of our close entwinement, 

Once devastated through wars consignment 

By the trampling feet of grim passions herd 

Turn'd in to graze upon its lovely sod, 

Puts forth again in sweetly blooming flowers 

Of love, good will, contentedness ; enhanc'd 

By choicest fruits — unitedness and power, 

Strength ning charms of this Columbian bower, 

He would become a blighting frost to sear 

Our hopes ; or, thundercloud our sky so clear. 

He would descend to be a magot in 

Decaying waste reposing in the graves 

Of men who died for what they deemed right, 

By 'tacking them to feed his working spite. 

The se raving acts are surely like his most 

Satanic Majesty's, o'er sudden loss. 

A vaunt such imps ! Stand forth Oh worthy sons ! 

And show unto the world we still are one, 

One God, one love, one law, one flag, one home, 

And so we shall continue while a^es con 



If, from these ugly things a cap 

Be twisted by a fofl or wit, 

And toss'd in air. and then should hap 

To fall upon a head it fit ; u. 

Then, say we, do let him wear it. >. 



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